


So It Goes

by herbwrites



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 13:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbwrites/pseuds/herbwrites
Summary: “It’s not fear,” she told him, “it’s respect. Obedience. I’m a servant. You make the mess, I clean the mess. You shit, I wipe. So it goes.”





	1. "Dirge!"

 

 She first encountered him in a corridor. _The_ corridor. The one she didn’t like going down, especially late at night, because her footsteps echoed loud in her ears and the floorboards creaked. But she didn’t have a choice, not if she wanted to avoid a scolding from Signy for not putting the buckets away (again). She didn’t see him until it was too late, and they were face to face in the gloom. 

 He was nothing more than a huge shadow blocking her way. When she breathed in, she could smell the damp coming off him. It must have been raining outside. 

 “Excuse me,” she said, ever so quietly, because the rest of the household must have been asleep by now. He stood as still as a stone.

 “I haven’t seen you before.” His voice reminded her of grazing her arms on rough walls as a child. She flexed her hand on the bucket handle. She wanted to make some kind of bitter response but she knew that was the way for a servant to lose their job. So she stood in the dark like a fool. 

 “What, aren’t you going to answer me?” he said . “I take it you’re new here.” 

She nodded, keeping her eyes down. He grunted. 

 “You better not cause any trouble, or else you’ll be dealing with me. And if anyone gives you any shit, tell them they can deal with me too. Nothing happens without me knowing.” 

 “Yes, sir.” 

That made him laugh. It was a  mean, mocking laugh. 

 “Whatever. Just stay out of my way.” 

When she was younger, she might have blushed at his cruelty, or even cried a little. But experience told her that at some point after he’d spent a night drinking she’d be the one helping him stumble to his bed, and she’d be the one washing his piss from his bed sheets. And he wouldn’t be laughing anymore. 

-|-

 She saw him in full light a few days later, when she came to bring Maven her breakfast in her study. It was a grand study, with a tapestry of the Black-Briar family tree hanging from one of the walls, and an enormous oak desk in the corner. The fire threw orange and gold light over the intricately woven rug. He was stood next to Maven as she sat at the desk, reading a letter, and Divines, he was one ugly son of a bitch.  

 He had a face like a dog furnished with a nose that had obviously been broken several times, and his mouth seemed permanently stuck in a sneer. His dull armour made him seem like an even bigger brute than he actually was. He looked up when she entered, so she kept her eyes down. She placed the tray carefully on Maven’s desk, bobbed a curtsy and shuffled quietly out again.  

 Thora narrowed her eyes when she came into the kitchen. 

 “What’s got you in a sour mood, Ingrid?” she asked, pounding her fist into the bread dough to knock it back and making the sturdy table wobble. Ingrid took up her own mound of dough and began to knead opposite her. She looked about to check that Signy wasn’t anywhere near, then leaned in. 

 “That man,” she said in a low voice. “The one in the armour. I bumped into him in the corridor the other night.”  

“Ah. That’s Maul.” 

 “He’s horrible. And ugly.” 

 “Horrible? Well, that’s Riften for you. Give it a month, and you’ll probably sound just like him.” 

 “What does he even do?” 

 “He’s Maven’s right-hand man. Does her dirty work. Keeps an eye on the streets. And as for being ugly? Well, his face ain’t much…but I wouldn’t mind seeing him out of his armour.” 

-|-

 Ingrid got one day off a week. Riften was a smelly, noisy city, full of people trying to dip their hands into your pockets when they thought you weren’t looking, so she wisely spent it tucked away in the gardens of the Temple of Mara, reading alone in the peace and quiet amongst the flowers and the bees. It was naturally on one of these peaceful days that a man decided to fall drunk into the canal as she was walking home. As she passed him, he was leaning on a railing and once her back was to him she heard a splash. When she turned around he wasn’t leaning on the railing anymore. 

 She clattered down the rickety steps to the walkway below, kicking her old worn boots off as she went. The light was poor down here and the water was fetid and murky but she could see him easily enough, floating face down. She jumped. The cold water yanked the breath from her lungs. She froze for a few moments, gasping, then reached out with arm made strong by kneading and scrubbing and grabbed the back of his shirt and kicked her way back to the walkway. Back on dry land, he sat up, coughed, then vomited all over her. He’d been drinking heavily so most of it was liquid and quickly soaked through to her skin. She wanted to be annoyed, but she knew she wasn’t going to be wearing the dress again after jumping into the canal - she could see a dead skeever floating in it out of the corner of her eye. 

 “Do you think you can walk?” she asked the man, starting to shiver in the cool air despite the warmth he’d provided for her with his stomach contents. His response was a vomit-infused burp, then a nod. She grabbed her shoes and helped him struggle up the steps to the marketplace. 

 “Dirge!” called a familiar voice. Ingrid looked up to see Maul walking towards them at a leisurely pace with a strange combination of disgust and curiosity on his face. “Did you fall in? You’re more useless than you look.” 

 It took Ingrid a few moments to realise that he was talking to her and not the man, but before she could swear at him Dirge spoke up. 

 “She saved me.” 

Maul raised one thick eyebrow. He shrugged a little at his mistake, but didn’t bother apologising. Then he took Dirge’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the Flagon, brother.” 

 And the two of them walked away, leaving Ingrid alone in the street.


	2. "You shit, I wipe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Chapter Title: maul has a big dong

 Ingrid was tired. Her feet were swollen, her back ached, and the thought of falling into her tiny crooked bed was no comfort when she knew that she was going to have to get up early the next morning just to suffer through laundry day. She had just changed into nightgown and was halfway through braiding her hair when an almighty crash echoed through the house. 

 Thora shot upright in the bed next to hers. “What was that?” 

The door flew open. Signy stood on the other side, also in her night clothes, her eyes wild.  

“Come quickly. Thora, we need hot water and a cloth. Ingrid, get a lantern.” 

 They did as they were told, then rushed after Signy to see what was going on. A small procession was working its way frantically down the corridor. Maven was at the helm, still somehow throwing off an aura of authority whilst wearing a thick quilted night robe.  

“He’s getting blood all over the rug! Hurry up!” she snapped, throwing open the door to Maul’s room. The man himself was leaning on his brother, holding a hand to his stomach. Blood was oozing out between his fingers and dropping down his front. His face shone with sweat in the quivering light of Ingrid’s lantern. 

 Between them, Dirge and Signy managed to lay him down on the bed. They cut his shirt off. Dirge let out a low whistle. There, punctured into the fevered paleness of his skin, was a stab wound, and it shifted with his every breath. 

 Thora held the basin for Signy as she wiped away the blood with a cloth. She poured some kind of potion over the wound to clean it, making Maul hiss and roll his head. Ingrid watched with morbid fascination and Signy stitched him back up, turning her hands slick with his blood. When she was done, they bandaged him up and gave him the strongest potion they could find in the cellar, and left him to rest. 

 “I’ll stay with him tonight,” Signy told them, gesturing for them to return to their beds. Maven was already long gone. 

 Back in their room, Ingrid rubbed her face and wriggled down beneath her woollen blanket. 

 “Well,” she told Thora, “at least you got to see him out of his armour.” 

 

-|-

 

 According to Signy he slept well through the night and into the day, only waking once to ask what had happened. Ingrid was tasked with scrubbing the blood from the floor and washing out the rug, even though she was supposed to be cleaning clothes that day. Trust someone to get stabbed when the laundry was due. On the second night, it was her turn to watch over him. She took up her post in the wooden chair at his bedside. 

 She got a better look at his room this time. It was small and shadowy, with no decoration other than some clothes tossed unceremoniously on the floor and an axe mounted above the bed. His bedsheets were still bloody - they hadn’t wanted to disturb him by removing them. Once he was strong enough to leave the bed, she’d have even more washing to do. Ingrid sighed, opened the book she’d brought with her and began to read. 

 The minutes crawled by. Her eyelids grew warm and heavy and began to droop, until she was startled by a slight cough. He was awake, watching her. 

 “Do you need anything?” she asked him. He shook his head. She nodded shortly, then went back to reading, choosing to ignore his gaze. After a few moments he decided to speak. 

 “Why are you so afraid of me? You’re like a mouse.” 

She blinked. “Afraid of you? I’m not afraid of you.” 

 He smirked and she knew that something cruel was going to come out of his mouth. “You can’t even look me in the eye.” 

 She closed her book with a _snap_. “It’s not fear,” she told him, “it’s respect. Obedience. I’m a servant. You make the mess, I clean the mess. You shit, I wipe. So it goes.” 

 He frowned at her. She’d spoiled his fun. 

 “The other night,” he said slowly, still frowning. “You pulled my brother out of the canal?” 

 “He was pissed and face down in the water. It’s not like he was going to do it himself.” 

 He turned his face away to the wall like a baby refusing food and the conversation ended there. Ingrid trailed off into a deep, uncomfortable sleep, but was woken up again by the sound of laboured breathing. Maul was panting and clenching his teeth. Ingrid stood up quickly and leaned over the bed, knocking her book to the floor. 

 “Are you in pain?” she said. He nodded. 

 “Potion’s worn off - I can’t have any more for another…another two hours.” 

She went to fetch a cold cloth and gently wiped the sweat from his brow. She couldn’t help but feel bad for him, even if he was nothing more than a brute. 

 “Have you heard the Legend of the Red Eagle?” 

 “What?” he said, screwing his eyes shut. 

  “I…thought it might help distract you. From the pain.” 

He didn’t respond, so she took a deep breath and slowly began to recall the tale as she held the cloth to his forehead. His breathing slowed a little and his shoulders loosened off slightly. When she stopped, he didn’t open his eyes, but spoke quietly. 

 “What happens next?” 

Ingrid shrugged. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.” 

 “Have you got the book with you?” 

She scooped it up off the floor. “It’s here.” 

 “Read it to me.” 

She hesitated, reluctant to treat a grown man like a child, but opened it up anyway and began to read aloud from where she’d left off. 

 

-|-

 

 After a week Maven began to complain about the stench coming from Maul’s room. They’d cleaned the bed sheets, and Ingrid scrubbed the floor and dusted the corners, but it was no use. They were going to have to bathe him. 

 “Help him out of his clothes whilst I fill this, will you, Ingrid?” Signy told her, setting the basin in front of the fire. Ingrid sighed. She stood before him, inwardly wondering how one man could be so massive, and grasped the hem of his shirt. It was a chore trying to get it off him - she didn’t know why they’d bothered putting one on in the first place. He grunted in pain as he lifted his arms. Up close, with the fabric covering his face, she allowed herself a quick glance at his exposed body. He was thick with muscle. His chest had a layer of thick black hair, which thinned out towards his stomach but followed a defined line down to his…Ingrid snapped her eyes back up and tugged the shirt off his head. His trousers were even worse. He was so tall that he had to bend over to lean on her as he lifted one leg and then the other and he made no secret of the pain it caused him. It took both her and the older woman to lower him into the tub. 

 Signs wiped her forehead. “I need to get started on tomorrow’s bread, Ingrid. You’ll be alright to scrub him down.” Ingrid opened her mouth to protest, but she was gone before she could say anything. 

 She made a point of cleaning him the way her grandmother had cleaned her as a child. She scrubbed his back as if it was one of Maven’s godforsaken wooden floors and his skin flushed bright pink beneath her brutal treatment. She cleaned and rinsed his hair quickly, but had no choice other than to soften her touch as she neared his stomach. She dabbed at it carefully with the cloth, focusing hard. Several tendrils of hair were escaping from her coif and the steam from the water was starting to make her sweat. 

 The inevitable moment had arrived. She rolled up her sleeves, soaped the cloth, then looked him right int the eye. 

 “Ready?” 

He swallowed.  

“I’m taking that as a yes.” 

She dunked her hand into the water and wiped the cloth over his crotch and was quickly thrown off by the size of him. It took her a few moments to realise that he was erect. 

 “It’s not you,” he snapped. He looked annoyed. 

 “I wasn’t-“

 “Just get it over with.” 

She wiped down his legs and scrubbed his feet, then called for Signy to help her get him out of the tub again. Once he was dry and clothed and back in bed, Signy gave her a sidelong glance. 

 “Did you do that to him?” 

 “He said it was nothing to do with me.”   

 “And?” 

 “He’s terrible at lying.” 

 


End file.
